THE RAIN KING



THE RAIN KINGby David L. Felts© 1998 - All Rights Reserved





It was down by the River, a vast expanse of red-brown water dappled by rain, where Miri first saw the Rain King.

Walking home from the village along the River path, she glimpsed a tall, dark figure beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree. Curious, she approached, and the figure resolved into a man, tall and gaunt, wearing a sodden gray robe, his long white hair plastered to his skull by the rain. Her heart lurched, for she recognized him as the Rain King from tales of other sightings. As she mustered her courage to go closer, a gust of wind blew rain beneath her hat and into her eyes. By the time shełd blinked the water clear, he was gone. She slipped under the willow branches, but found nothing but two footprints in the sodden turf, with none leading away.

With a puzzled frown, she abandoned her search, slung the oiled leather sack over her shoulder, and hurried back to the path. The loaves of bread inside the sack bounced against her back as she walked. Though she cast frequent glances over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the rain and trees.
#
"I saw the Rain King today," she said that evening, at dinner. She ate a last bite of fish and mushroom stew, then licked the spoon. "Down by the River, under a willow tree."
Miriłs older sister, Jenya, looked at her with wide eyes. "You saw him? Hełs a ghost, you know. If you see him it means youłre going to die."
"Thatłs not true," Miri said, though a tingle of fear raced up her spine.
"It is," said Jenya. "Just you wait."
Miri made a face. Jenya thought she knew everything just because she was two years older. "He couldnłt have been a ghost. He left footprints."
"Ghosts can leave footprints if they want."
"There now," said Mother, wagging a finger at them both. "Donłt argue so. And you, Jenya. Stop scaring your sister."
Father set his clay mug down on the table with a thump. Miri knew by the tone of his voice he was angry. "What were you doing by the River? You were supposed to be getting bread."
"I took the River path." Miri looked down, tracing the tip of her finger along a grain in the wooden table. Though the River path was longer, she liked to walk it and look out over the water, watching the boats.
"Running errands to the village doesnłt mean you can wander where you please." Father frowned. "Iłve told you to stay away from the River. What if you slipped and fell in? What then, hey?"
"Stay away from the River," Mother said. "Understand?"
Miri nodded. "Yes."
"You need to think more about your errands." Father said. "And if you see the Rain King again, you stay away."
"Why?"
"Donłt question your father." Mother stood and began gathering the plates. "Who knows the power of kings and wizards in their grief, or the depth of their madness? Whołs to say he wouldnłt do you harm?" She looked hard at Miri, shook her finger again. "Stay away. Now help me with the dishes, both of you."
It was Miriłs turn to dry; she liked that better than washing. It was Jenya who had to crouch over the low wooden tub of hot water and scrub with a long-handled brush. Steam curled around her narrow face, making strands of her brown hair, so unlike Miriłs blonde, stick to her pale cheeks.
"The Rain King wouldnłt hurt anyone," Miri said. "Hełs just sad because his family died."
"Hełs a wizard as well as a king," Jenya replied, handing her a plate. "And a ghost too, so Iłve heard. And maybe mad as well. Who knows if hełs dangerous or not?"
"I donłt think hełd hurt anyone." Miri dried the plate and put it in the cupboard.
"Maybe." Jenya shrugged. "But Father said not to go down by the River." She glanced up at Miri. "And they both told you to stay away if you saw him again."
Miri didnłt answer. She dried the dishes, watching through the kitchen window as darkness fell and obscured the rain.
#
Miri lay in bed that night, listening to the never ending drumming of rain on the roof, thinking about the Rain King. She knew why he prowled the River. He was looking for his family. His wife, Arabella, and his daughter, Elsbeth. Grandy used to tell her the story. It was one of her favorites, though it had been very sad. Grandy was dead now, but Miri remembered sitting on his knee while he spoke, running her hands along his scratchy cheeks and smelling the sweet cherry scent of the smoke from his pipe. If she thought hard enough it was almost like being there again.
"He was a great king," Grandy said. "And a wizard in command of powerful magicks. He was full of love and life and kindness, and ruled well." He paused to tap his pipe out on the arm of the rocker, then replaced the much-chewed stem between his teeth.
"One afternoon, when I was a young man and your father no older than you, Queen Arabella and Princess Elsbeth had been crossing the River in the ferry. It was much swifter then, and narrow, so that people could cross to the other side." Grandy paused and shook his head sadly. "But that morning, the thick rope broke and the River carried the ferry down to the rapids, where great boulders jutted up from the foaming water like jagged gray teeth. The ferry hit them and broke into splinters, and the Queen and Princess were tossed off and drowned, as was the ferryman. They were never found."
"When the Rain King heard of their deaths he was stricken with grief. He rushed to the River, wading in hip deep. As he stood there sobbing, he changed. In the span of a heartbeat his white robes turned gray and his brown hair white. His face became lined and old and sad. Clouds gathered overhead, and rain began to fall. Lightning struck the castle, shattering it into ruins. The King swam into the River and the current carried him away. But to his death? None know, for hełs still seen from time to time, wandering the Riverłs banks, searching for his wife and child.
"The rain is caused by the Rain Kingłs grief as he mourns for his lost wife and child," Grandy said. "Hełll mourn until he finds them, and the rain will fall as long is there is sadness in his heart."
Miri was silent a moment, thinking about the poor king and his drowned family. Then she said, "Tell me about the sun."
A great smile bloomed on Grandyłs weathered face. "Ah, the sun!" He shook his head and was silent a moment. "A great golden orb, impossibly bright. It floated in a blue sky like a brilliant yellow jewel, glowing with light and heat. A wondrous thing, the sun." And he reached up, his fingers bent and weak from age, and brushed the tears from his cheeks.
Miri sighed, turning on her side on bed, hearing the rain on the roof, the gurgle of water as it ran from the eaves. She tried to imagine the sun. All she knew were clouds and rain, though on some days, when the rain was light, there was the hint of something bright behind the clouds. But always the rain. Downpour or drizzle, gentle or with pounding violence, the rain fell. Clouds cloaked the sky from horizon to horizon, sometimes iron gray and angry and roiling with thunder, other times almost white and so thin it seemed a puff of wind must scatter them, though it never did. They were always there, like cotton drawn across the sky.
What had it been like when Grandy was a young man? The sun blazing, the River narrow and swift. Seasons, too, when the weather changed from hot to cold and the days were as different from one another as people. How strange it must have been. Shełd asked Father about it, for hełd seen the sun as a boy after all, but each time hełd grow quiet and sad and gruff, and refused to answer.
Miri snuggled deeper under her covers and made a promise. She would find the Rain King. She would talk to him and ask him about the sun. Surely no harm could come of that.
#
The day dawned gray and damp, a light blowing drizzle falling from high clouds, a blissful respite from the drenching showers of the last few days.
After breakfast, Miri put on her greased canvas coat and hat, grabbed up the oiled leather sack, and left for the village with the few coins Mother gave her to buy bread and fish. She took the River path, even though she wasnłt supposed to, hoping to see the Rain King. Yet there was only the River and the mist. A few fishermen were out, their boats tiny specks on the Riverłs vast width. She finished her errand promptly and helped Father and Jenya pick mushrooms that afternoon.
Every chance Miri got she went by the spot where shełd first seen the Rain King. Each time there was only the River and the rain and the boats. She sometimes wondered if shełd truly seen him. Yet she remembered the way hełd looked and the footprints hełd left beneath the willow too clearly for it to have been an illusion.
Months passed. Miri ran her errands and helped her family with the mushrooms. She scraped mold and mildew from the house and tended the drying fire in the barn on wash days. Slowly, so slowly she didnłt even notice, her memory of the Rain King faded, until she didnłt even realize when it was gone.
#
One morning when Miri woke, the rain pounded on the roof like stones dropped from the sky. A shiver shook her body as she realized what it meant. The rain only fell with such force on one day, Mourning Day, the anniversary of Arabellałs and Elsbethłs death. On this day the rain was so thick it was said one could drown simply by glancing up. Miriłs heart thudded as she remembered the promise shełd made so many months before. If the Rain King was to be found, it would be on this day.
"Itłs Mourning Day," she said at breakfast. "I can tell by the rain."
Father looked at her, his eyes narrowing, and Miri wished shełd kept quiet. "Thatłs right." His voice was stern. "And on Mourning Day we donłt wander, for the Rain King is about, and his mood is foul."
Miri pointed at the last bit of crust on the bread plate. "But wełre out of bread. I could run to the village."
"Youłll do no such thing," Mother said, looking at her as if she could read Miriłs thoughts. "Not in this rain, not today. Wełll do without bread. Youłll stay here and help get the mushrooms ready for market."
Miri sighed, pushing her breakfast around her plate with her wooden fork. She had to find the Rain King, shełd promised. She knew, somehow, that if she could get to the River, he would be there, waiting.
She finished eating and helped clean up, wondering if she would be able to get away. Shełd already decided to try, should the opportunity present itself. She went to the barn after breakfast, where mushrooms soaked in barrels of vinegar and spices. She and Jenya emptied the barrels, using long-handled metal dippers to spoon the mushrooms into clay pots. Mother and Father sealed the tops on the pots by dripping wax from candles around the edge. By mid-morning theyłd filled fifteen pots and still had a few mushrooms left at the bottom of one of the barrels.
"Run to the house," Mother told Miri. "In the kitchen. There are more pots." She looked at the remaining mushrooms with an appraising eye. "Two more should do it."
Miriłs heart skipped a beat. She nodded and hurried from the barn. As she stepped outside the rain hammered down as if trying to drive her into the earth. This was her chance. She sprinted for the house, splashing through puddles, yet didnłt go inside. She ran on, heading for the River.
She hurried as fast as she dared, hunched against the downpour, water splashing up and soaking her legs beneath her coat. The wind whipped water beneath her hat, into her eyes. She squinted and kept running, though she could barely see twenty feet ahead, following the River path back to the willow were shełd first seen him.
He was standing under the willowłs drooping boughs, water dripping from his sodden robe and hair. The rain fell in sheets so thick she could barely see. The river rushed by faster than shełd ever seen, whipped into a roiling brown froth. It was higher too, the whirling water not more than a dozen feet from the edge of the path. The ground was slippery, and Miri was half blinded by the rain. Twice shełd almost slipped. She knew if she fell in the River, it would swallow her like a stone and shełd never be seen again.
She shielded her eyes and slipped under the branches of the willow. The rain was less here, hampered by the leaves and branches of the tree. She wiped water from her face. The Rain King stood motionless, next to the trunk, staring at the River through the leaves. Miri swallowed several times and stepped nearer. Up close the Rain King was like a tree himself; gray and gaunt and weathered, his arms like branches hanging stiffly at his sides, his hands and fingers hard and gnarled. His face was proud and strong, his hair long and white, plastered flat by the rain. Was it raindrops or tears that streaked his ashen cheeks?
Though the Rain King hadnłt looked at her, he unexpectedly spoke, his voice deep and slow, thick with sadness and despair. "They were supposed to be back by now," he said.
Miri was so surprised she almost ran. She swallowed several times, trying to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.
"But the rope broke," the Rain King continued. "While they were in middle. No one could save them. The River took them from me and hides them still."
Miriłs heart pounded with fear and excitement and anticipation all at once. "The rope?" she managed to ask.
"Yes. The rope holding the ferry." He drew a heavy breath and let it out with a sigh. "The River is a mighty thing, but it keeps its strength hidden to snare the unwary." Miri waited for him to continue but the Rain King was silent.
"Is there a sun?" Miri asked, her voice trembling, amazed at her own boldness. She raced on, the words coming out so fast they almost tripped over each other. "Iłve heard people tell about a the sun. Travelers and traders in the village. And my Grandy. Itłs great and golden and round, and floats across the sky like a bird. Is it true?"
The Rain King stirred, shedding water. He sounded confused and lost. "The sun?" His thick white brows drew together. "Yes. The sun. I remember the sun." He closed his eyes. "What is your name, child?" he asked, without opening them.
"Miri."
The Rain King sighed. "Miri. A pretty name. My daughter had a pretty name."
"Yes. Elsbeth."
"Do you know my daughter then?"
Miri shook her head. "No."
The Rain King waved a hand. "Well, when she gets back Iłll introduce you. Shełs always telling me she needs more friends. You can come to the castle in the afternoons and play with her."
Miriłd seen what was left of the castle: great tumbled stone ruins at the top of a hill, green and slick with water and moss. "The Castle? The Castle is gone. And Elsbeth too."
The Rain King sagged, chin dropping to his chest. "Ah, yes. I forget myself." He drew a deep, ragged breath. "I should have been able to save them. Somehow." He drew himself up. "Iłm a wizard. I have powerful magick."
"You make the rain?" Miri asked.
The Rain King looked around them. "Why, yes. I can make rain. A small thing, to make rain. I often do, to cool a hot summer day, or to help the farmers with their crops."
"Can you stop the rain as well?" Miri asked, wondering what a summer day was.
"Of course, child." The Rain King leaned close and Miri had to stop herself from backing away. As he peered beneath the wide brim of her hat Miri noticed his eyes; a wonderful, brilliant blue, bluer and deeper than anything shełd ever seen. "You look like Elsbeth," the Rain King said. "Are you my daughter then, returned to me?"
Miri shook her head. "Iłm just Miri. My father grows mushrooms."
The Rain King reached out. "Take off your hat, child."
Miri pulled off her canvas hat. Her blond hair tumbled loose, curling about her face and shoulders. Rain quickly dampened it, darkening it, running cold down her neck.
"Hair of gold. Just like Elsbethłs. So beautiful."
Miri tucked her hair up and put her hat back on, before she got too wet. She didnłt want to catch a chill.
The Rain King and took her hand in his. "Come Elsbeth. Mother will be waiting. Itłs time to go home."
The flesh of the Rain Kingłs hand was like ice. A numbing cold flowed up Miriłs arm, spread through her chest, making it hard to breathe. The Rain King began walking, heading for the River, dragging Miri behind him. She tugged frantically against his grip, but he was too strong.
"Come," the Rain King said.
They were out from under the willow. Rain lashed Miriłs face, blinding her. Icy cold deadened her limbs. Her legs weakened, her vision grew dim. Each breath was a struggle.
"We must find Arabella," the Rain King said, pulling her behind him. "We must find your mother."
"No," Miri moaned, fighting, her feet slipping in the mud. He was too strong. Her body was numb and weak with cold. Jenya had been right. The Rain King was a ghost, and he was going to kill her.
"Hush, Elsbeth." They were only a few feet from the River. "Be a good girl."
"Iłm not Elsbeth." It came out as a hoarse whisper. She didnłt want to die! "Elsbeth is dead." She fought against the Rain Kingłs magic. The River licked at her feet. Blackness roiled at the edges of her vision. "Elsbeth is dead!"
The Rain King stopped, releasing her hand. Miri fell to her knees in the mud. Warmth seeped back into her body. She was aware of her heart laboring, of each sweet breath of air.
"Elsbeth is dead," she said again, gasping, too weak to stand. "Iłm not Elsbeth."
The Rain King stood knee-deep in the River, the whirling water tugging at his robe. He put his hands to his face and sobbed. "So long. Iłve looked so long. Will I never find them?"
"Make things as they were," Miri said. "Make yourself as you were. Stop the rain."
The Rain Kingłs eyes lost their focus. "Stop the rain." He wiped at his face. "Itłs been raining so long. My soul is rain."
Miri struggled to stand. Her legs shook. "You were full of life and love. How can they find you, when your soul is rain? When you are so different and the world so dim?"
The Rain King closed his eyes and swayed in place. Slowly the rain lessened; from hammering downpour to steady shower, steady shower to light drizzle, drizzle to mist, and from mist to nothing.
Miri tilted her head back and looked at the sky. Iron gray clouds hung low and heavy. A swirling spot drew her eyes. As she watched, the thick clouds spun apart, revealing a patch of blue the color of the Rain Kingłs eyes. The edge of a golden orb drifted into view, impossible bright. Miri shut her eyes with a small cry. She felt the touch of a hand on her head.
The Rain King took off her hat. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the vanishing clouds, making her hair glow like spun gold.
"So beautiful." The Rain Kingłs lips twitched in a small smile. "Iłd forgotten. My heart was sadness when it used to be joy and love." The clouds parted further, the full sun shone down, washing everything in golden light. As Miri watched his robes turned brilliant white, his white hair turned rich brown, the skin on his face tightened and filled. Before her stood a man no older than Father. The Rain King smiled.
"They wait." His voice was strong and young, his smile kind. "I was too different. They couldnłt find me. I couldnłt find them. All this time and still they wait. Thank you, Miri." He turned back towards the River and began to walk. The water reached his waist, his chest, then lapped over his head with scarcely a ripple to mark the spot.
Miri looked at the sky, sunlight like a warm blanket on her face. The air was growing thick and hot. She heard water dripping from the leaves, the muted murmur of the River. She took off her coat, shaded her eyes with her hand, and took a deep breath. There was a new scent in the air, rich and thick and green. She looked up. The clouds were broken, wispy bits of white on an impossible field of blue, fleeing before the sun.
From the far horizon, out across the river, a brilliant band of colors arced up into the sky. Miri started up the River path, glancing back towards the River. For a moment she thought she glimpsed three shadowy forms embracing, appearing to stand upon the water. She looked harder and they were gone.
She smiled and hurried home.









David L. Felts is 33 years-old, married, one kid and another on the way, and
currently a captain in the US Air Force. His time in the military has led
him to a variety of locations: San Antonio, Texas -- Miami, Florida --
Tokyo, Japan -- Tucson, Arizona -- Montgomery, Alabama -- and, finally,
Goldsboro, North Carolina. He's been writing for eight years, with serious
intent for about four.

He is also the editor and publisher of a small press speculative fiction
magazine titled
Maelstrom Speculative Fiction.

PUBLICATION HISTORY (in order)
"Troder", Writers of the Future volume XIII
"Last Call", Millenium SF
"The Rain King", Millenium SF
"The Color of Honor", Fortress Magazine
"Chopper", Vampire Dan's Story Emporium (forthcoming)
"The Color of Honor", reprint, Neverworlds